She goes out and comes home. “There isn’t any way you could be worse than John. ” Anna hesitated, and then held out the letter. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. But I suppose as I’ll have to wait until you can hear me to tell you again. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly. What!—add another drop to her cup? Who knows? Any day they may find me. ” “I suppose all men,” said Ann Veronica, in a tone of detached criticism, “get some such entanglement. Ann Veronica was excited and puzzled, with a sense of a strange and disconcerting new light breaking over her relations with Ramage.
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